Stranger
by SamSnead
Summary: My throat closed with emotion and against all odds I found myself inexplicably wishing for the simplicity of the arena - eat or starve, kill or be killed, live or die.  But there would be no silver parachutes to save me from this destruction.


**Characters/Pairing:** Katniss/Gale  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Hunger Games & Catching Fire.  
**Summary:** A missing scene between Gale & Katniss. Takes place after their kiss, but before Katniss leaves for the Victory Tour.

**Warnings:** Angst-tastic.

* * *

I had left a tiny note in the hollow with my bow and arrows. Just three words, scrawled tightly in my cramped, messy handwriting: 'I'm at home'. I didn't need to specify. Gale would know.

Home was in the Seam. In the tiny wooden house that had sheltered me through my transformation from child to caretaker to Tribute. Home was where my father had lived.

I sat in my old chair, drumming my fingers against the tabletop to keep them warm. There was a chill in the air but I dared not start a fire in the hearth. I had been watched enough for a lifetime. Now I needed privacy. For what, exactly, I didn't know. Gale had kissed me in the Meadow. I could lie and say that I was surprised, but I was _so tired_ of pretending. I pretended to be a grateful victor; pretended to be in love with Peeta; pretended that I didn't wake up screaming every night with the ghosts of mangled Tributes burning the backs of my eyelids. Gale used to be the one person that I never had to pretend with. But now we talked about snares and arrows and everything except the things that really mattered. We both knew that we couldn't go back. But we also couldn't move forward, and so we trudged through a purgatory of small talk and lost chances.

And I was done. Done with pretending and done with being a stranger to the person that knew me better than anyone. _Done._

I stood up restlessly and began to pace back and forth, my soft leather boots barely making a sound against the dusty wood floor. Pausing to glance out the back window, I remembered the worn yellow curtains that Prim had carefully picked out and hung on a crooked wooden rod. The house in the Victor's Village had fine lace curtains from the Capitol. I hated them.

Hearing a noise behind me, I whipped around, startled to see Gale standing in the middle of the room.

"You scared me..." I started to smile but Gale's stoic face turned the corners of my mouth back down.

"Sorry."

The cramped room fell into a thick silence that seemed to drag on infinitely. Gale dropped his knapsack to the floor and moved to stand at one end of the table. He folded his arms across his broad chest and waited, his gray eyes holding the slightest hint of a challenge. I moved towards the other end of the table, unsure of how to begin. I supposed that I should be the one to start this - whatever _this_ was - but I hadn't planned on what I would say. I just knew that I couldn't live like this anymore.

"You have to talk to me, Gale."

He didn't answer immediately. "There's nothing to say."

"We both know that's not true."

The house fell quiet again. Finally, Gale's clear voice cut through the silence. "I watched you every day. Every single day." He paused. "But after a while it wasn't you."

The quiet, seething anger in his voice made me hold my tongue as he went on.

"You weren't the Katniss I knew. You were 'the girl on fire'. And you belonged to those idiots who dressed you up like a paper doll. You belonged to the odds makers who wagered on your destruction. You belonged to the Capitol. You belonged to _him_ –"

"I belong to no one -"

"You belong to _me_!" He lashed out, unable to control himself as he pounded his fist against the rickety wooden table. The table my mother used to perform miracles on. Gale leaned both hands against the splintered wood, staring down at it as he took a deep breath. When he spoke his voice was barely above a whisper. "We belonged to each other."

I stood frozen on the spot, staring at the broken boy in front of me. "We still do."

Gale dismissed my platitude with a sharp exhale. "You don't have to perform anymore Catnip. Not for me."

His words stung me, and suddenly I was angry. No, _furious_. How dare he act like any of this was my fault? As if I _wanted_ to be shipped off to the Capitol. As if I wanted Peeta Mellark to thrust me into the role of star-crossed lover. As if I wanted to stumble through first kisses and confused feelings with the whole country watching. As if I wanted to die like a dog for the amusement of the wealthy. When I spoke my voice was low, fuming. "I did what I had to do to survive."

"I know."

"No you don't. You have _no idea_."

"Katniss -"

"What do you want from me, Gale?"

He was taken aback. "What?"

"It's a simple question."

"I don't -"

"No really! What do you want from me!" I spat out every word as I advanced toward him around the table, my voice raised to a dangerous volume.

In one swift motion, Gale moved to meet me, pinning me up against the side of the table. The back of my thighs pressed against the sharp edge as he placed his hands on either side of me, trapping me. His impulsive movement seemed to take us both off guard; we stood there for a tense moment, both breathing heavily, unsure of what to do next.

I moved my hands up to his chest to push him away, but instead found my fingertips curling against the soft cotton of his shirt. Gale cast his gray eyes downward, avoiding my own, and I felt the anger seep out of me, replaced by an immense sadness. His face was mere inches from mine, and I allowed myself to stare at the boy in front of me. I had long ago memorized the planes and contours of his face, but I could see new creases in between his brows. New dark crescents below his eyes. This was not the same boy that I had said good-bye to in the Justice Building just a few months ago. This was a wounded man.

"I don't want to fight," I whispered after a moment.

"Me neither," Gale agreed quietly. His voice was steady, but the unspoken seemed to linger on the edge of his tongue. I noticed that his eyes were still trained on the floor.

I was just about to murmur an apology when Gale leaned in slowly. Slow enough for me to push him away, if I had wanted to. I sucked in a sharp breath as his lips came to rest lightly, reverently, against the side of my neck. I felt his warm breath travel down to the skin at the crook of my shoulder as he pressed another soft kiss there. Then one on my clavicle.

Gale's hands came up off the table and traveled down my arms, grasping my hands in his own as he brought them up to his mouth. Eyes never meeting mine, he opened up my fingers carefully to place a chapped kiss inside each palm. His hands were dark and calloused next to mine. I could see the coal dust etched under his fingernails like tattoos, and I longed for my own tattoo of scars that the Capitol had smoothed away.

Releasing my hands, Gale placed his fingers on my waist, then inched lower to trace precise circles on my hip bones with his thumbs. He hooked one thumb under the hem of my shirt, exposing the slightest sliver of soft - too soft - skin. Without warning he knelt down smoothly, silently, and placed his lips just above the freckle that dotted my hip bone.

I froze.

He froze.

Afraid to move, afraid to speak, afraid to breathe. My throat tightened and I was acutely aware of the sound of my pulse beating in my ears, humming a sharp staccato rhythm.

Gale pressed the pads of his fingers purposefully into my hips as his mouth moved to the tiny expanse of skin under my navel. For a moment I thought of coal dust and how difficult it was to scrub off. Maybe his fingerprints would leave tiny black lines on my skin forever. Maybe I wanted them to. Lost in my thoughts, I hadn't noticed Gale silently climb back up my body, his face now level with mine. He raised his eyelids slowly and we finally looked at each other. Two pairs of gray eyes. Two broken kids. Two survivors. Gale brought his hands up to cup my face and swept his thumbs over my cheeks, memorizing them with the pads of his fingers.

And just then I realized that I was crying.

I thought he would kiss me again, and I wanted him to. No prying eyes, no cameras. Just us. But instead, Gale merely pressed his lips to my forehead, holding them there for a few moments. My throat closed with emotion and against all odds I found myself inexplicably wishing for the simplicity of the arena - eat or starve, kill or be killed, live or die. But there would be no silver parachutes to save me from this destruction.

Gale stepped back after a moment and I immediately missed the warmth of his strong hands. He turned abruptly, grabbing his knapsack. I was too shocked to move, and before I knew it he was already halfway out the door.

"Gale - " I managed to choke out.

He hesitated in the doorway, but did not turn around.

"They take _everything _away from us…" he whispered, his voice hoarse with equal parts fury and anguish.

And then he was gone.


End file.
